


*I* Taught You That

by tem



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Chirrut just really likes Baze touching him, Erotic Literacy, Flirting, Fluff, Guardian Days, Handholding, M/M, Pre-Slash, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tem/pseuds/tem
Summary: Chirrut bets that the Force will teach him how to do anything. Baze doesn't believe him.





	*I* Taught You That

**Author's Note:**

> Just some stupid thing I wrote instead of updating the fic I've needed to update for months. Unbetaed, awful, and cheesy.

“The Force is not going to teach you how to write.” Baze tried to hide the surprise in his voice, but Chirrut could hear it. He heard it in the pause after Chirrut made his announcement, and in the subtle emphasis on the word write. Chirrut, you see, could hear everything. Every waver, every change in tone. He could always catch a liar when he heard one. It was, he always said, one of the advantages of being blind.

“Yes, it is. You don't believe I can learn?”

“Oh, I know you can learn, I just don't think the Force is going to be what teaches you.”

To be honest, Chirrut had been as surprised by his announcement as Baze was. Chirrut could read and write in braille, of course, but never had any interest in learning how to read or write the standard alphabet. There was no point in it, as learning to write it was useless and learning to read it impossible.

“Of course the Force will teach me. Already, it's taught me how to cook -”

“I did that.”

“How to fight -”

“That is thanks to the _hard work_ of the Masters.”

“- how to dance -”

“Me, again.”

“- and now, it will teach me how to write.”

“I'm pretty sure that I'll teach you how to write.”

Chirrut made a show of dramatically rolling his eyes, and he heard Baze give a small laugh in response.

“Why do you want to do this, anyway?” Baze asked.

“To prove to _you_ that the Force makes all things possible.”

“I already know that is true, Chirrut.”

_Maybe I just like it when you teach me things_ , Chirrut thought. Baze was a good teacher, patient, and hands-on. He taught by guiding Chirrut's hands, physically showing him how to do things when needed. Chirrut enjoyed the touch and the closeness.

He didn't voice this thought to Baze, and instead just smiled widely. “I'll buy you a puffcake if I'm right,” he said instead. He heard the rustling of the fabric of Baze's robes as he crossed his arms.

“With chocolate,” he said after a moment of consideration.

“Of course.”

“Come on, then,” Baze said. Chirrut could hear him shuffling papers around on the desk, looking for a blank piece. Chirrut walked over to the desk and Baze guided him into the empty seat and pushed a pen into his hand.

* * *

 

Baze was right, of course.

He guided Chirrut's hand around the curves and lines of each letter, but Chirrut could focus on nothing but the steady warmth of Baze's hand over his. His grip was firm but gentle, and every now and then, he would re-adjust, his fingers sliding lightly over the back of Chirrut's hand.

“Did you get that?” Baze asked, breaking Chirrut out of his thoughts.

“Hmm, I think you're going to have to show me again.”

Baze moved slightly closer, their shoulders touching now, and placed is free hand on the back of Chirrut's chair. Before he could take Chirrut's hand again, Chirrut dropped the pen.

“Oops,” he said, reaching for it on the desk.

“Here,” Baze said, and Chirrut briefly turned his hand towards Baze's to take the pen, letting his fingertips lightly graze across the palm of Baze's hand.

“Thank you,” he said, as Baze adjusted Chirrut's grip on the pen and then covered his hand again. The angle was different this time thanks to their closer proximity. Baze's grip wasn't as tight, and his fingers grazed against Chirrut's more often. Chirrut was all too aware of the warmth of Baze's body next to his, their sides pressed together, and that Baze had moved his free hand from the back of the chair to rest lightly on Chirrut's shoulder.

Chirrut was pleased. He may be out a few credits for the chocolate puffcake, but the contact was well worth it, in his mind. Baze's hand shifted again, fingers dragging on the back of Chirrut's own, and Chirrut dropped the pen once more. Without thinking, he turned his hand over in Baze's and laced their fingers together in order to keep Baze from letting go of him to retrieve it. He felt Baze's hand stiffen for a fraction of a second and then relax, and Chirrut couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his face when Baze's fingers curled over his own.

_I think I might die if he lets go_ , Chirrut thought. He imagined reaching out to touch Baze, feeling the other man's breath on his own face. He imagined leaning in, pressing their lips together, running his hands through his hair. His free hand twitched at the thought.

Then he thought of how that could all go wrong. About how Baze could reject him, saying it's not right for two Guardians to fraternize in such a way. Hand-holding was one thing, but kissing was probably crossing a line. He had a thought of Baze reporting him to the Masters, or avoiding him altogether. He didn't think he could bear that.

“I guess I'll just die,” he muttered.

“What?” Said Baze.

“Hmm?” Chirrut pretended that he hadn't said anything. Then he decided that while dying may have been the best option, it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was for Baze to keep touching him, and he wanted to touch Baze in return. Before Chirrut could stop himself, he turned in the seat and placed his free hand on Baze's cheek. He ran it over his eyebrow, and across his cheekbone, down to his jaw.

“What are you doing?” Baze sounded amused, if slightly confused.

“You have a very handsome face.”

Baze let out a loud laugh, and let go of Chirrut's hand. Chirrut felt disappointment, followed by a surge of hope and wonder as Baze covered the hand that was still resting on Baze's jaw. Baze stroked his hand for a moment, and subtly leaned his face into Chirrut's touch, and Chirrut's heart skipped several beats. He could hear Baze's breathing, not close enough to feel his breath on his skin, but close enough that he could easily bridge the gap between them.

But then, Baze did something unbelievably cruel: he pulled himself back. He pried Chirrut's hand away from his face and guided it down to the table.

He did not, however, let it go.

“Stop trying to distract me,” Baze said softly. “It's not going to make me forget that you lost the bet.”

Baze's words brought him back into reality, into the silly game they were playing. Chirrut smiled. Baze's hand was still warm over his own, and Chirrut again laced their fingers together. “But I didn't loose the bet.”

“You did. You said the Force would teach you to write. But here we are, and I am teaching you.”

Chirrut could feel his smile getting wider. He couldn't help himself. “But the Force sent me you.”

Baze huffed, then gave Chirrut's hand a quick squeeze before letting go. “That,” he said, “was not part of the bet. Now, come on.” He pushed the pen back into Chirrut's hand. Chirrut took it, feeling giddy. It may not have gone how he had imagined it, but Baze was still close and touching him, his hand warm and his breath near his face, and all was good.


End file.
